


The One with the Nap Partners

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Napping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: Stiles regained consciousness slowly, smacking his lips together and trying to nudge his eyes open. Holy shit, this was comfortable. In fact, preliminary assessments were indicating that this was probably the best nap he’d ever had. He was warm but not too warm, his muscles felt loose and relaxed, there was a very impressive bicep locked around his ch—wait, what?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Friends on Netflix, saw this episode, and just couldn’t resist. (This fic ends in a decidedly pornier fashion, though.)
> 
> Happy Sunday -- enjoy some fluffy napping goofs!

“Movie night!” Stiles called out as he pushed past Derek into the apartment. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said dryly, holding the door for everyone else who came tromping in behind him. “I love having my apartment overrun with college kids.”

There was a little smile at the edge of his mouth, though, and Stiles wasn’t fooled. All of them had stayed fairly close by for college, meaning that they could continue the longstanding tradition of monthly movie nights at Derek’s loft, in the name of pack unity. And he knew Derek enjoyed it, no matter how much he pretended not to. “Okay, okay, what’re we watching tonight?”

“It was my turn to decide,” Kira reminded him, elbowing him in the stomach, and Stiles directed a mock bow in her direction.

“And what say you, milady?”

“Double feature: _The Prestige_ and _The Illusionist_.”

Stiles nodded. “Movies about magicians from the mid-2000s, nice job sticking with a theme. Popcorn?”

“On it!” Scott called out from the kitchen.

Isaac was hooking up the DVD player, Erica was rummaging through the cabinets where Derek “hid” the candy, and Lydia was pulling the extra blankets out from the linen closet. By now, it was a pretty well-worn routine. They did like to switch up who sat where, though, and by the time Stiles made his way into the living room, the only spot left was on the couch next to Derek. He sprawled out, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Derek’s lap and getting a smack on his hand for the trouble. The opening credits started to roll, and he yawned—he’d pulled an all-nighter two nights ago thanks to a gnarly economics exam and hadn’t yet fully recovered.

* * *

Stiles regained consciousness slowly, smacking his lips together and trying to nudge his eyes open. Holy _shit_ , this was comfortable. In fact, preliminary assessments were indicating that this was probably the best nap he’d ever had. He was warm but not too warm, his muscles felt loose and relaxed, there was a very impressive bicep locked around his ch—wait, what?

He startled, jostling in the strong grip before it all came back to him, and he realized that he and Derek had apparently _spooned_ and fallen asleep together. “Dude!” he said, craning his neck in an attempt to see Derek’s face and smacking his arm. “That was the best nap _ever_.”

“It was fine,” he said shortly. He untangled himself from Stiles and got off the couch, with way more finesse that any one person should be able to possess, and stomped off toward the bathroom.

“Do you two need to be alone?” Scott said, grinning from where he was curled up in the armchair with Kira, and Stiles glared at him.

“Shut up,” he said, pushing to a seated position and running a hand through his hair. “That was a fucking awesome nap, you’re just jealous.”

“Shhh,” Isaac hissed. “This is the good part, and we don’t care about your problems.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, and Scott snorted as he turned back to the movie.

* * *

Waiting a whole month for the mere possibility of another wonderful nap was pure torture. Stiles was maybe a little too excited about movie night, and the hyperactivity on top of his usual bone-deep exhaustion was a strange combo.

“Warm milk, anyone?” he said with a grin as they all milled about the kitchen, getting ready, and Derek glared at him.

“You,” he said, pointing. “Stay away from my couch.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes in his direction. He didn’t end up having much of a choice, though, because by the time he made his way to the living room, the couch was the only spot left. It was Lydia’s turn to pick this time, and she chose some _foreign_ film that made Stiles yawn the second he saw the first subtitle. He levered himself up and twisted to look over the back of the couch at Derek, who was stubbornly sitting at the kitchen table.

“But I’m so _tired_ ,” he whispered, not even caring that he was definitely whining. “You know I sleep like shit. Please? Just a couple hours? You’re like my magical nap buddy.”

Derek sighed, his eyes flicking between Stiles and the couch. “Fine.”

Stiles cheered under his breath and scooted over to make room.

* * *

After that, it became something of a routine. And not just on pack movie nights, either. He started showing up at Derek’s place on random weekday afternoons, in search for a quiet place to study as much as a comfy place to nap.

But the naps.

Oh, god, the naps.

They were _so_ good, warm and cozy and comfortable. Stiles had always had trouble napping in the past—he usually woke up gross and disoriented and feeling worse than he had before—but not anymore. He was perpetually sleep-deprived (turned out that double-majoring in criminal justice and psychology wasn’t exactly a walk in the park) and honestly, the only quality sleep he ever got was at Derek’s. It was just too hard to sleep in his tiny dorm room, surrounded by unpleasant and unfamiliar sounds and smells.

He was definitely relegated to Derek’s couch, though. He gave the bed a longing look one time, but Derek just glared at him and shook his head.

Sometimes they cuddled, even though they never talked about that part, but just as often Stiles would fall asleep next to Derek, slumped on his shoulder, or with his feet in his lap while Derek read. And it turned out that he didn’t even need to nap _with_ Derek, even though those were always better, obviously. Just having Derek around, in the same space, was calming enough that Stiles could drop right off and wake up a few hours later feeling completely rested.

He didn’t want to dig into that too much, actually.

* * *

One Saturday afternoon, Stiles showed up at Derek’s door, waggling his eyebrows in the direction of the couch, but Derek planted a hand on his chest and stopped him from even crossing the threshold. “You stink,” he said flatly, and Stiles recoiled.

“Hey!” he protested, sniffing under his arm. “I showered, like, this morning. I smell fine.”

“You smell like someone _else_ ,” he clarified.

“Huh,” he said, thinking. College wasn’t exactly the bastion of sexual promiscuity that the movies had promised, and he hadn’t hooked up with anyone in months. Then it hit him. “My roommate! We’re the same size and I hate doing laundry, so…”

Derek crossed his arms. “So you wear his clothes.”

“Uh, sometimes,” Stiles said, tugging at the collar of the shirt that definitely wasn’t his. “He has good taste.”

“I will nap with you if you take a shower.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, scooting around Derek and heading toward the bathroom before he could change his mind.

He took a quick shower but tried to scrub thoroughly, not wanting to offend Derek’s sensitive nose, and even washed his hair—smelling like Derek’s shampoo would probably be a nice touch. The hot water felt amazing, but Stiles reluctantly turned it off, knowing that the nap would feel even better.

He reached for a towel and paused at the sight of sweatpants and a t-shirt, folded neatly and resting next to the sink. Stiles hadn’t even heard him come _in_ , that sneaky fucker. He sighed and absently rubbed the towel over his hair before pulling the clothes on.

He stepped out of the bathroom, wincing at the cloud of steam that emerged with him, and called out, “Do I smell appropriate now?”

Derek appeared out of the kitchen and glared at him. “Lay down,” he said, pointing at the couch, and Stiles grinned.

“Aw, Der, at least give me a _challenge_ when it comes to the dog jokes.”

“So you _don’t_ want to take a nap, then?” he asked mildly, taking a step back, and he smirked at the panic that was surely visible on Stiles’ face.

“No, no, I do!” he claimed, rushing forward to lay down.

With a huff, Derek climbed in behind Stiles and tugged a nearby throw blanket over them both. “Stop wiggling.”

“You don’t have to sound _quite_ so put-out, Sourwolf, lots of people would be grateful for the chance to cuddle with me.”

Derek growled—now _that_ was an interesting sensation against his back—and shifted them forward so that he was mostly on top of Stiles. “Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, this is fine,” he rasped. “Breathing’s overrated, anyway.”

Derek sighed but did shift his weight back a little, and Stiles drifted off with a smile on his face.

* * *

A lot of sensations filtered in as Stiles woke up, as per usual, but the _glaring_ new addition was the feel of what was most definitely Derek’s hard dick against his ass.

Stiles froze.

Holy shit. What was the appropriate protocol here? He could move and just pretend he didn’t feel… _that_ —which did _not_ feel small, Jesus—or he could fake being asleep. Derek was most definitely awake, though, judging from the unnatural stillness and the quick, shallow breaths, which meant that he surely knew Stiles was also awake. And panicking.

“Okay, you have two choices here,” Stiles said, trying (and probably failing) to keep his voice as steady as possible. “Option one, I get off this couch and we pretend like this never happened. Because I mean, really, what’s a little morning wood between bros? Well, nap wood, I guess. Or—”

Derek abruptly shifted his weight, moving out from behind Stiles, and he winced. Yep, their friendship was probably over. At the very least their naps were, and he silently mourned their loss.

But then he was suddenly flat on his back with Derek hovering above him, braced with his elbows on either side of Stiles’ head. “What’s option two?”

Stiles wanted to _die_ , god. He’d woken up half-hard himself, and now thanks to Derek’s voice—low from sleep, gruff and rougher than usual—he was pretty much fully there. He was 87% sure that he was still dreaming, actually, and that meant he was going to wake up, like, humping Derek or something, and then he would definitely get his throat ripped out, and…

Derek was still staring at him, though, with that little crinkle between his eyebrows, and Stiles wet his lips. Even if this was a dream, he was sure as fuck gonna take full advantage of it. “Option two is…literally whatever you want. Unless you, like, have some _really_ extreme kinks, in which we should probably talk fir—mmph!”

Derek cut him off with a kiss, and Stiles froze briefly—blame his sleep-addled brain—before returning it with _vigorous_ enthusiasm. It was only awkward for about a second or so, until they got their heads angled appropriately, and then it quickly morphed into something deep and frenzied. One of Derek’s hands moved to firmly cup the side of Stiles’ neck, and he nibbled at his lower lip in response, arching up into Derek’s bulk just to feel the way he pressed him back down. The hard, hot line of Derek’s dick was pressed against the groove of his hip like a brand, and Stiles could scarcely concentrate on anything else.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he gasped, and Derek stilled immediately. “Is this just because I smell like you right now? With the soap and the clothes and all? Wait, but actually that would be pretty weird because then that must mean that you’re attracted to _yourself_ , and even though I guess I could totally understand that, because _wow_ , dude, seriously, it’s still a little—”

Derek clenched his jaw and then ducked down to kiss him again, this one slow and devastating with long sweeps of his tongue that basically made Stiles want to cry, clutch at his shoulders, and propose marriage, all in one breath. He did one of the three, at least, and slid his hand from Derek’s shoulder up his neck and into his surprisingly-soft hair.

Derek finally pulled away to start mouthing down his neck, and Stiles blinked dumbly up at the ceiling. “Congratulations,” he said shakily. “You found the only guaranteed way to shut me up.”

Derek grinned then, the sudden flash of white nearly blinding, and Stiles just _stared_. It was even more beautiful close-up. “I bet we can find others.”

Stiles groaned and doubled his efforts in wrestling Derek’s shirt up and off his torso. “Oh my god, please get naked. That is not a request, that is a fucking _demand_.”

Derek pulled back then, making Stiles whine in a thoroughly embarrassing fashion, but he was quickly mollified by the sight of Derek taking his shirt the rest of the way off. He levered himself up just to grab Derek and tug him back down, but Derek held him in place and ripped off his shirt. Almost literally. Stiles almost complained or made fun of him for it before remembering that it was _Derek’s_ shirt, and oh yeah, he had better things to do with his mouth.

They dropped back down against the couch, Derek’s body covering his completely, and Stiles shivered at the sudden, strange chill. God, his skin was warm, and there was just so _much_ of it, he marveled as he glided his hand up Derek’s broad back. Their dicks slid together neatly, and the impediment of clothing quickly went from _annoying_ to _oh god get them off_. Stiles wormed a hand in between them and tried to split his attention between fumbling with Derek’s jeans and dueling with the tongue in his mouth.

Derek reached a hand down to help him unzip the jeans, and Stiles groaned, trying to shove them down. “God, if you didn’t wear such tight fucking jeans…”

He could _feel_ Derek smile against his neck, holy shit. “Then you wouldn’t stare at my ass so often?”

“Valid point,” he said immediately, arching up against Derek’s mouth. “Keep the jeans, please. Just not right now.”

Together they finally wrestled them down, and neither of them flinched when something crashed to the ground as Derek flung them away. “Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, reaching his hand down. “Of course you’re not wearing underwear.”

Derek knocked his hand out of the way, though, before he could do anything fun with it and shoved Stiles’ sweatpants below his ass, nestling their dicks together before lifting his hand to Stiles’ mouth. He tried to be as shameless about it as possible, keeping his eyes locked on Derek’s as he thoroughly laved his fingers and his palm. Derek’s eyes were flatteringly wide, his breath shallow, and Stiles could definitely feel little bruises forming where his other hand was clutching his hip.

He took Derek’s thumb into his mouth, sucking hard and scraping his tongue across the pad of it, and Derek wrenched it away after a minute with _holy-fuck-yes_ that was a growl. Stiles let out a little breathless laugh—he couldn’t help it because he could not _believe_ that this was happening—that morphed into a groan when Derek wrapped his big hand around them both. Lube would be ideal, sure, but Stiles definitely wasn’t gonna last long enough for it to matter.

“This might be embarrassingly short,” he gasped, one hand locked in Derek’s hair. “Please don’t take it as a—oh, _fuck_.”

Derek viciously thumbed at the head of his cock, grinning, and Stiles shuddered. God, it felt like someone was striking match across his whole body, flames licking up everywhere. Derek’s other arm was holding up his weight, and when Stiles twisted his head to lick up the delicious vein of his bicep, Derek took the opportunity to suck and bite a mark just above his collarbone. The slight pinch of pain made Stiles arch up into it with a whimper, his heels scrabbling against the cushions.

 _Derek_ came first, actually, dropping his head against Stiles’ shoulder with a throaty grunt as he spilled all over his stomach, and Stiles gasped, in surprise as much as anything. Derek kept his hand moving, though it was slow and jerky and the switch in rhythm was enough to set Stiles off about a dozen strokes later.

Derek groaned right along with him as he twitched and writhed, and his orgasm seemed to last several pulses longer than usual. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and Derek promptly slumped down onto him, smearing the come between their stomachs. “You made a mess,” he accused, but Derek just smiled against his neck again. The huff of his breath was damp against his skin, and Stiles shivered, clutching at Derek a little harder as they came down.

“Sorry to say this—and to be such a cliché, honestly—but I really need another nap now.”

Derek swallowed, loud enough that even Stiles could hear it, and stilled. “Would you like to nap in my bed?”

“Um, _yes_ , obviously,” he said, playfully tugging on Derek’s hair. “Why wouldn’t you let me sleep in it before?”

He sighed, and Stiles recognized that expression—that was his _I hate talking about emotions_ face. “Because then my bed would smell like you,” he said flatly. “And I didn’t want that unless we were…you know.”

Stiles grinned. “So now we’re _you know_ -ing?”

“What does that even mean?”

“You tell me, dude, you’re the one who said it.”

Derek grimaced. “Dating,” he gritted out.

“Good job using your words,” he said, patting Derek’s scruffy cheek, and he gave a little mock growl, twisting his head to grab and gently gnaw on Stiles’ fingers.

“You’re not allowed to be condescending this soon after coming.”

Stiles gasped and tugged his fingers free, replacing them with his mouth. “I wasn’t,” he mumbled against Derek’s lips. “I swear. We are totally dating, and you are most definitely my boyfriend now. Those orgasms were actually a binding contract, sorry.”

Derek stood up with a grimace (though he was _totally_ smiling, he couldn’t hide that from his _boyfriend_ ) and hauled Stiles up off the couch and into his arms. “C’mon, before you fall asleep again.”

He yelped—in a manly fashion, obviously—and clutched Derek’s neck. “Okay, we don’t actually need the caveman display,” he said, and Derek set him down with a huff. Stiles tried to take a step but immediately stumbled and clutched Derek’s arm. “Ooh, nope, just kidding. Post-orgasm legs don’t really work yet, please help.”

Sighing, Derek hefted him back up and walked the rest of the way toward the bedroom. “You are very high maintenance, you know that, right?”

“You love it,” Stiles said, grinning as Derek dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. He climbed in after him and tugged Stiles over to slump on his chest.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Gladly,” he mumbled, burrowing closer and clumsily patting Derek’s cheek. “Best nap partner ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on Tumblr!](http://leslieknopeismyshiningstar.tumblr.com/)


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